


Burning Horizon - Short Stories

by Steven_Makrados



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Diary, Gen, Letters, Photography, Psychosis, Series, Violence, Visions, burning horizon, chloe price - Freeform, daniel dacosta - Freeform, kate marsh - Freeform, life is strange - Freeform, mark jefferson - Freeform, max caulfield - Freeform, nathan prescott - Freeform, time fragments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-02-04 22:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steven_Makrados/pseuds/Steven_Makrados
Summary: Life is Strange - Burning HorizonThis short story series is linked to the main story called Burning Horizon. Chapters aren't linked or connected within this series. I advise against reading these chapters without knowing Burning Horizon up to chapter 07 (thus far).In this series you'll read letters, diary entries - and more - by various characters of Life is Strange plus the added/invented characters (among them Michael, Mark, Troy, etc.). This should clear up some mysteries and deepen the high detail.Burning Horizon Summary (greatly shortened):Max is back in 2013 with severe amnesia... Her powers have altered the same way as she has. Now it's time to figure out, how the new 2013-timeline became solid, since so many things are different and elusively corrected by an unknown force. First strange things happen right at the beginning. A suicidal incident after the photography lesson where she has believed that she could start all anew.





	1. Posterity Inferno

**Author's Note:**

> Since I faced many problems during composing Burning Horizon, I finally determined to create a series of - in itself - unrelated short stories (chapters) that may clarify some burning questions concerning the story, which are impossible to describe via Max's point of view. So, instead of writing billions of visions and flashbacks, I considered creating this series, which unearth some external thoughts and add more depth to the (already very) complex and confusing Fanfiction.
> 
> My personal reason to create this series was the biggest mistake in chapter 14 of Burning Horizon. I noticed how much I tried to describe empathy and other complex extrinsic emotions. I came to the conclusion - it's unfeasible. At the beginning of Burning Horizon, I regarded it to be an extensive English exercise as it is not my native language. After all, my skills have improved to a point, at which only one thing matters - choosing the most suitable vocab (maybe a little syntax, too). Now, Burning Horizon has successively become my personal mammoth project besides my studies and personal hurdles. Long story short, the main focus now is the plot and an effective way of conveying a story with a deep emotional impact.
> 
> Reading "Burning Horizon" first is recommended. This still is in a work in progress state.
> 
> Thanks for reading, from the bottom of my heart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instead of drawing, she rather writes about her problems. Emily Stillwater somehow is weaved into the happenings of 2013.  
> This entry into her actual sketchbook reveals some of her knowledge.

**Burning Horizon – Posterity Inferno  
Sketchbook-used-as-diary entry by Emily Stillwater**

13th of December 2020,

normally I’d use my magic diary to doodle down my demons. Facing, coping, dealing with my past by drawing. But hey, who cares anyway?

This special day needs words. Today is the day, I met Eric. I can’t remember, what year it was? 2016. He always told me, his magic friend from Oregon had told him about an alternate reality whence he met me around one year earlier. Well, doesn’t change the fact, that I can't bring him back to life.

No matter how much I’m trying to cope with my family’s death, Eric’s death was beyond anything I’d ever anticipated.

I see letters rising out of my sketchbook. They fill this room with tiny particle shadows. I miss the stories about the ominous polaroid. The burning horizon. Eric couldn’t stop talking about it. Yeah, I miss those days. And I miss Nevada. I miss it so much.

Ouch, my fingers hurt. I’m not used to write that much with a pencil. I should write more often though, because it feels like someone’s petting the back of my terribly aching head. Well, my reason to write an entry into my sketchbook was actually a song that reminded me of the Memorize Max, Eric was talking about. No matter how many stories he had told me, I virtually always heard music at the same time.

“Trashton” with his song “bed stares”. I had to stop the music livestream on YouTube, because I thought, I felt Max’s presence crackling from my speakers.

I can’t explain, how much pain went through ever fiber of my body, as I watched my family’s house burn into ashes. Inside my magic sketchbook, I can still reek the ember. The hot ashes of our house which doesn’t cool. I should’ve died there as well.

Hell, this is me talking about my trauma back when I was eight years old. It’s not that I want to stir up my scarred wounds, but when Eric has told me about exactly the same occurrence in 2013 – an inferno –, I finally came to terms with it. I wasn’t alone anymore. Poor Max. Guess she’s the only person who understood the extend of that pain.

It’s weird, being back at work and thinking about the past, all the time. My colleagues try to comfort me and get my mind off my struggles. Tomorrow is Monday and I’m gonna see them all again. They don’t understand anything, but I admire their attempts to show compassion.

“Bed stares” has finished. Oh man, such a short but great song. So, should I keep on listening to the music livestream or focus more on this entry? It’s eight o’clock in the evening and I don’t know what to do. How old am I? 15? No idea about life? Still hating everything especially myself? I suppose, Eric’s death shook my life out of balance. Can’t take up a stable stance.

At this time he usually came back home, told me how much he loved me and we prepared dinner. I hated preparing dinner alone. It was special with him. God, I’m the worst. I’m 31 and a widow.

I noticeably feel serenity while writing. Really should do this more often. Okay, I’ll be right back. Must crank up the volume!

Back – well, where was I, oh yeah, Eric and I wanted to move to Paris, since he got an auspicious job offer. All gone for now. Sometimes I speak to his mother. Good thing he taught me some German before his death, otherwise she wouldn’t understand me one bit (or the other way around).

My boss recommended attending a shrink. Beautiful how everybody assumes, that medicine or doctor means, “Will do it per se.” Moreover, writing into my reputed sketching book helps a lot more, than being psyched by a bloody headshrinker.

Damn, I feel abysmal, abandoned, worthless. Every person, I’d loved used to die a few years later. It seems likely that this is a curse. I remember being told, that love is a drug – a poison if you will. Now I feel like Chloe. Oh man, Eric couldn’t stop talking about Arcadia Bay and all the hidden stories. Alternative timelines and all the good stuff. He tried to replicate the stories he heard and wrote a novel, he’d never finished. Now, I’m thinking about its characters.

Perfect. Glad that Bonnie sits next to me and watches me crying. She whimpers. Yeah, I know. You miss him, too. Bonnie turned three a week ago. I noted her grief. She misses Eric just as much as I do.

I suppose, she even misses Max. Any time we met, Bonnie was all over her and licked through Max’s face. It was a ritual for her, to first wash her face, as she arrived at our apartment here in Seattle.

I should stop writing. My fingers are stiff and the cold winter up here doesn’t help much. Maybe I’ll repeat this diary-coping-with-stuff scribble tomorrow. Oh, somebody rang my doorbell, that hasn’t happened in months.

Be right back…


	2. Passing light of day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was her very last wish that came true. Now, everything might change. She's about to make a very important decision.

**Burning Horizon – Passing light of day  
Outside the boundaries of her mind – within limbo**

It’s so great. I can feel my body. What a great dream. Could’ve said “thank you” one more time. There’s no phantom pain – none of this. Blade Runner echoes in my head. All those flashing colors. As she fell asleep on my dead legs, I wished I could stroke the back of her head. No doubt she has changed. The way she wrote her letters to me… sigh.

Oh, I haven’t noticed. I’m awake but I see nothing but darkness. I’m inside my bed. The respiratory system squeaks quietly, the tube tacked to my gullet doesn’t hurt for a change. “Thank you, Max, it really was painless,” I thank her again. I regret having faced her with such a fierce decision. She did the right thing. I won’t judge her for leaving me alone in Arcadia Bay in a time I needed her most.

Now, I’m obliged to atone my sins:

First sin, always being a childish brat to my parents so they always had something to gripe about.  
Next and worse sin, an accident had caused my life to turn upside down. Nothing was worse, than being a weight inside my parents’ life. Everybody’s life went on except for mine. Max’s life went on, the life of our relatives, the life of my friends who rarely paid me a visit. I stopped my parents from going on. I hope my death wasn’t in vain. It’ll take time for them to forget that pain. They’ll realize fast, that I was actually dead the moment my back had snapped. They’ll realize keeping me alive was merely delaying my fate they couldn’t understand to accept. They could’ve strolled together with Max and me along the boardwalk and regard the dead helplessly stranded whales. This imagery… a visual metaphor of how I felt.  
Last and worst sin, I can recall, dragging my parents into debt worth several millions. After my death, it’ll take them a lifetime to shake themselves out of it. They shall start all anew. I know they’ll do. Dad is a fighter just like mom. They will both do the right thing.

I hear a shattering of glass. The shards sound as clear as they sound close. It could be right in front of me. What happens around me? I hope, Max leaves before mom and dad notice anything. No… I want her to be with them. She seemed lonely that day. Huh, weird… I never had such a clear dream. Dark, empty, but thoughts remain sharp and real. Could use a little bit of Firewalk, or other music. This is it then. What’s this? Light enters this empty room. Brr, my fingers are cold, my legs prickle. A blanket, I haven’t felt cloth in years. I’m entering heaven.

A mp3-player plays back music, somewhere inside this room. Thanks for hearing me out, someone gifted me with music. This is my sickroom in my parents’ house. I survived the dose and feel my limbs? Never – this is beyond death. Oh God, Max is still here. Her tears soaked into my blanked. Her throat is cut and blood has left her neck. I’m not attached to any of the tubes. So, I’ll leave my bed. Clothes and shoes on my body. Max’s blood is fresh, but… I can finally move my body. Even better, I can do anything effortless, as if my muscles have never withered or faded.

This is creepy. First, I thought, it was a lucid dream with nothing but darkness, then I assumed I was entering heaven, and now I can move my body after years but reawake in the room I’ve actually died. White dazzling light spills this room like a white disguise shines by itself like a sun. I’m confused.

I walk up to Max’s lifeless body. Strange, it looks like she has fallen asleep on my legs, right on the photobook we were watching along with some nostalgic feels. Her bag, maybe I’ll find something in there which gives me a hint. Her diary… normally I’m not that type of guy who does this, but I think she wouldn’t mind me for reading her last entry.

And there you are. The music was her mp3-player inside her pocket. It feels cold just like her body. Sounds good, what’s crackling out of the earplugs. Will listen to this while reading. Holy… whoa, her last entry pages are blood-speckled.

“September 4th, 2013

So much to do… I wish I could slow down time, especially to register all the cool things that have happened since I’m back in Arcadia. Blackwell RULES!

September 21th

Yes, I’m older and thanks to Vic and Nathan I’m now a bit more fashionable too. They surprised me with the most beautiful straw pork pie hat, wrapped up furoshiki-style. Best birthday party ever. Also, drunkest. I can’t sleep.

October 4th

Hey dear Diary, remember me? Busy Max. Busy. Can’t write now. Must shoot. Must live. Must befriend. Should rekindle with Chloe too. But must Vortex first. Party time!!!!!!”

What the? This isn’t her. At least not today. Seems like she’s a better actress than I knew. But those entries show her real face. The Max, I knew from her letters. The parchment letters… swanky but… it matches her profile. Hang on, there’s something written in bold letters inside the vortex circle,

“I love you Chloe, I’m so sorry for everything. Farewell.”

Very confused I grab her dusty music player and remove a thin layer of dust from the little display. The blueish glowing letters show, “POD – Sleeping Awake”. Yeah, what a funny coincidence. Great song though. Not quite my genre… but does it matter now?

Nothing but the music makes a sound in this room. It gives me the creeps. Oh my… where the… Max is gone. She’s left the room silently. God, I must get out of this cursed room. I want to go outside in the garden and head to the swings. What? The door’s locked. Max has locked me up – can’t be. This dream slowly turns into a nightmare. Wait a minute. The window frame has no pane. I could vault over it with a little strength.

They are waiting out there. Max, mom and dad. They smile at me. They knew, I’d come. Mom and Dad stand next to a wooden bench. I tucked Max’s player in my pocket in case she wants to listen to a little music in this death silent place.

Guess this is it, wow! Beyond our garden there’s the shore. No stranded whales at long last. The sun is low in the golden hour and seems to be stuck now and forever. Max stands there with her ancient camera in her hands. Still fascinated by this bad boy because it’s still working and still kicking ass. She’s… smiling at me. She hands me the polaroid. Mom hugs dad and pushes her head against his shoulder and looks at me. Dad keeps up his silence with that wonderful smile on his face.

“Come here,” he whispers and opens his arms offering a hug. I look down to my body. They took so much care of me, and now, I took it all away. I run into him. Tears run into his armpit.

This isn’t heaven. Wouldn’t you sense modesty, wisdom and integrity? From all of them, it’s more like the opposite. Contrition, grief and alike. A surreal dimension inside which I’m captured.

Dad embraces his arms around my back. Mom’s soft and warm hand pets over my back. “It’s all fine. You don’t need to say anything,” Dad reassures. He’s so strong. No wonder he’d never given me up regardless of whether I was disabled, a rebel or dead. “Shhh,” he whispers. Mom kisses the top of my head and pets my back a little more.

Max stands somewhere behind us – the hugging family. She could join to us but keeps distance instead. “I’ll give you two some time. After that, we’ll go for a walk. Together,” William pushes me back a little holding my shoulders with his strong hands and looks into my drenched eyes. He smiles, I can’t see anything else through this wet blur of tears and bright daylight.

I turn around, raise the polaroid camera in my hand but Max shakes her head. She wants me to keep her camera… wait it’s… actually dad’s camera. Where did she get it from? Whatever, since the Arcadia Bay shore has moved in front of our garden, I can definitely stop asking myself needless questions. I remove my shoes and put them beneath the bench.

“Wanna go to the swing?” I ask her. She doesn’t answer but nods. The swing from our garden is repositioned to the shore digging deeply into the sand. A little crooked as it digs deeper into the sand when we both sit down on it. Both of us watching the frozen sun at the horizon kissing the blue sea. A round orangish tint that burns the horizon kindling it to a distorted curve that moves like everlasting flames.

“Look at the beat poet here,” Max nudges on my shoulder and chuckles. She’s wearing a necklace with three bullets jangling near her collarbone. She looks down on it and flips each bullet through her thin fingers.

“There is something, I always wanted to tell you,” Max suddenly pipes up with her eyes set to the weird necklace. I startle because of this. The ocean. Finally another component that makes a sound in this deaf entity.

“I will always be there for you… no matter if dead, alive and beyond,” she gazes at me. Almost as if she was in love with me. An echo resounds. A voice says something, “This is your decision to make.” Hardly audible. “Eh, what?” I respond into the sky. “This is your decision,” Max repeats next to me, still staring with that lovestruck sparkle in her eyes. “What decision.” she changes her gaze to the polaroid camera on my lap and nods. “Take a picture of that scenic beauty or…” and she points at her lips. Or kiss her?

I stand up and walk closer to the water. Flow is about to come. Who knows, maybe it’ll always remain in that about-to-come-state. I take her music player. It has played “Consequence by The Notwist” all the time. I was too stupid to turn that thing off. Well, now it’s the next song that plays.

I stroll down the beach and feel the cool sands rising to little hills around my feet. All that while listening to… let’s see “Don’t Stay Here by Frames”. Hah, what a funny coincidence. I’d never leave this place, even if the song’s name tells me to. It’s beautiful here.

I turn around and see my parents watching me strolling down the beach up to the sea. Both waving. In the vapor of the heat, they look akin to swirling silhouettes with a blue shine. Max sits on the swing and brushes with her feet along the sandy surface. Little clouds of sand puff around her legs tinging her trousers into a glittering light-brown around her calves.

Still, the sun set to the famous golden hour and burns the ocean in the far distance. Along with the beautiful melodies of the piano within this wonderful song. But… something interrupts this magnificent moment.


	3. Phantom Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She tries to cope with it.

**Burning Horizon – Phantom Pain  
Tirelessly Joyce struggles; a pain growing in her psyche she cannot accept, yet…**

_With her hands shaking, she slowly dials her daughter’s number. Digit by digit moving her thumb over the mushy keypad. The thumping in her chest makes it almost impossible to feel the keys she’s pushing down. Every new revealed figure on the slim display sends a shiver down her spine. As though she’s trying to contact a kidnapper whose ransom note has gone beyond good and evil. The hardest key to press has been reached._

**Dialing tone.**  
“Yo, you’ve tried t’call me? Too bad I’m not there. Leave a message if you want, bye!”  
**Beep.**  
“Hey, it’s mom… you were almost always running out of credit and asked me to call back. So, your last text message to me has aged a little, and I thought why not calling you? For a change? Chloe, where are you? Where’ve you gone to? I… I’m… oh God... don’t wanna tell you what’s wrong at the moment, but please… just call me back, okay? Text me back, whatever.”

_She snivels and puts her phone aside catching a breather, albeit her phone records even the quietest sound of her hushed living room. Trying not to go crazy, she remains fairly calm and searches for convincing words. She wants her old life back so badly. The life, which was constantly going south. And yet it’s different without her…_

**One minute remaining.**  
“Oh, sweetie. Please… don’t get me wrong. All I want is your hot-headed rebel spirit turning my house upside down. I miss your annoyed face, the loud music, your coarse words. I miss my frustration, disappointment, anger… at all that. I want it back. I regret being the shrew and bad mother. If you don’t call me by tomorrow, I’ll definitely try this again, over and over. Yell at me if necessary, I won’t answer back. I just… remember the day you came down and we had a long talk. I saw you slipping. You weren’t…”  
**Ten.**  
“Your life just began from there on. Talk to you, my little girl.”  
**Hangs up.**

_A day has passed._

**Dialing tone.**  
“Yo, you’ve tried t’call me? Too bad I’m not there. Leave a message if you want bye!”  
**Beep.**  
“Hey, it’s me again. Sorry, feel a lil’ under the weather recently…”

_Joyce coughs. Her chair creaks as she turns away from her phone concealing her deep pain by faked coughing. Moreover, her wet nose and hoarse voice gives away the rest of her emotions. Any person in the same room could feel despair and an angst-ridden mind. But there’s no one. It’s cold in Arcadia Bay. No voices, no chirping birds, no passing cars on the street grinding their way through knee-deep muddy snow. Only one warm element waits next to her. A hot mug of tea ready to fill a shallow body with some warmth. An excuse to herself pretending to be sick. Even so her tears sense cold on her skin as they run down around her mouth. The ticking of her clock intensifies like jarring snares on a drum._

**Ten.**  
“Think you’ve heard enough for today. I’ll call you again…”  
**Hangs up.**

_A day has passed._

**Dialing Tone.**  
“Yo, you’ve tried t’call me? Too bad I’m not there. Leave a message if you want, bye!”  
**Beep.**  
“Christmas ahead, oh my, where are you?”

_Talking to the phantom’s voice mail torments her. A burning pain that twinges in every fiber. Any time she dials and waits, she’d prefer to put a hole in the wall. A hole she wishes to throw her memory into. Forgetting it all. David, Max, even her daughter._

“You should know that I’m not up to anything evil. Tell me, what do you wish for Christmas? A warm and cozy place? I can’t offer a lot, but… Listen, I feel you. I finally understand how you felt. Big words I know, but I mean it. Loneliness, I don’t know if you urged or cursed this upon me, but…”  
**One minute remaining.**  
“David’s left. I been thinking about… feeling alone and abandoned for that very day he hit the road and disappeared. I’ve got it. Now…  I’m alone… guess you feel the same… I’m begging you, please come back. Those walls are closing in. I can’t take it anymore; I…”  
**Ten.**  
“I’ll leave Arcadia Bay if you’re not coming back soon… I don’t know whether I’ll see you ever ag…”  
**Hangs up.**

_A week has passed._

**Dialing Tone.**  
“Yo, you’ve tried t’call me? Too bad I’m not there. Leave a message if you want, bye!”  
**Beep.**  
“Hey, Chloe. Phone almost bit the dust. I managed to get it working again. I started smoking. Can’t smoke at work, of course, but my worries exhaust me. Y’know why David had left? You maybe don’t give a damn about it but he left because of you. You set him the right signal to leave. He also talked to Troy which didn’t really help as much. I didn’t expect him to give up this early. He left Arcadia Bay.”  
**One minute remaining.**  
“William, you and I we are on the same photo. Never thought I’d ever search for that frame again. Now it’s on the dining table. When you were younger. Too much bad things had happened and you being missing makes me feel worse.”

_She takes a deep pull from her cigarette and blows the smoke through the left side of her mouth. A shine lies on the picture’s glass masking Chloe’s face. The good days Chloe had never left in her mind. William, a flawed father just like the rest of literally any individual. Joyce doesn’t know a more suitable method of keeping in touch with her missing daughter. Leaving her room untouched, wallowing in better memories when everything seemed to be perfectly fine, isn’t good enough. Joyce forgot crying. The purpose of her current life is nothing more than waiting a few customers and returning to her abandoned home._

“Don’t leave me here in the dark. I’m running out of words to speak. Supposedly no words will bring you back. It’s questionable if you even listen to the voice mail.”  
**Ten.**  
“I won’t give you up!”  
**Hangs up.**

_The last week has passed._

**Dialing Tone one time.**  
“The call cannot be completed as dialed. The dialed number is currently unavailable. The call cannot be completed as dialed. The dialed number is currently unavailable. The call cannot be completed as dialed…”  
Hangs up.

_While the automated voice iterates its two sentences on and on, Joyce slowly removes her phone away from the ear. Making the male announcer quieter and quieter as she puts the phone on the table and hangs up. She remembers her very last words to the voice mail. As tangible as they may be, she thinks about those words nonstop. The announcer’s voice told a different truth than she had anticipated to hear. There’s nobody telling her a bitter truth. There’s none of that._

_She has realized the sole purpose to dial her daughter’s number. To hear her voice after the third resounding dialing tone. Now it has transformed into a cold male’s voice that repeats the same lines over and over. Slowly but surely Joyce senses a growth in her chest area. An old pain that she had thought to have forgotten. The pain feels different though because it’s her daughter not William._

_The loss of her daughter had caused a phantom pain to emerge. A particular sorrow only mothers can sense._


	4. Before the red miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The red miracle has caused a chain reaction long time before Max has considered changing everything all over again. This short story focuses more on the afternoon after the storm. A storm that she has believed to happen only in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning:  
> Descriptive dark themed. Particular descriptions of loss and grief. It’s advised against reading if you are not feeling sane or mentally stable.

**Short Story – Before the red miracle  
Theme Song: Placebo – Song To Say Goodbye (Extended Music Video edit)**

This day didn’t seem to end. The sun has been shining all day long. On the contrary the ceremony – the darkest event of all things. Leaving the graveyard, Max stands alone on the sidewalk at the entry gateway of the cemetery. Caught in her own spiral of endless empty thoughts. Abandoning herself to grief. A strong friend approaches her. It’s Dana who kindly talks to her with no bad intentions,

“Hey you, uhm, you wanna be alone for a moment?” and ironically, she’s not upset about Max picking up the pregnancy test. Because it never happened. Max, wrapped in her thin dark dress doesn’t know what to think, or what to say. Really, the only concrete thing in her mind is the blue butterfly which kissed Chloe’s coffin. A sign which has made Max smile for the very first time in a long time. A bitter smile, honestly, but something that has raised her hopes for a split second.

She hadn’t tinkered with times, timelines and alternate realities ever since she returned to the girls’ restroom. This one cold shot resounding in the bathroom. She’ll never forget the blue haired angel as well as the way the shot had sounded. Somewhat jarring and muffled because the barrel was pointing at an innocent life. Well, was it innocent? Max tries to get her mind off things, but Dana reacts way faster and glomps her despite everything.

As she has believed not bursting into tears and shivers at the ceremony and remain composed, this hug more or less ruptured her calm demeanor. Dana beams at the other students who are leaving the graveyard. All of them realize that Max was closer to the dead punk than anybody could’ve ever imagined. “Wanna chit-chat in my room?” Dana suggests with her comforting voice. Before Max could answer, another student’s hand pats her shoulder and gently digs into the muscle. “Thanks Victoria,” Dana smiles. A whistle so quiet only Max could hear it, since her head is pressed against Dana’s chest.

Principal Wells talks to Joyce and her husband. Only his dark voice happens to be perceivable. The other sound Max hears, is Dana’s calm heartbeat. “I’m sorry…” Victoria releases her hand off Max’s shoulder. This incident was fairly important to Arcadia Bay.

If only Chloe had died without Max having discovered her powers, nothing would’ve been changed by now except for poor Maxi’s memory. There’s no need to nurture her a deeper understanding of sacrifice and loss. Everything has sunken into her bones in less than a week. She could tell a story no one would believe. She could rewrite the missing pages into her diary and they would merely show off how boring her life will turn back again.

At least there are other friends around her. Kate joins Joyce and David. Some last words of condolence maybe. Briefly she gives Dana a sign to wait. No problem at all, Max with all her grief needs time enough. So much intangible things in her head, and yet emptiness at the same time. “Oh my, we’ll take care of you,” Dana giggles enjoying her current situation. Being compassionate, good-natured and peaceful just like everyone knows her.

“Hey,” Kate joins her dark dressed friends, “aw Max, c’mere. You could use a hug.” And she embraces her back. “Mrs. Price has asked to see you…” she breathes into Max’s ears. Still, poor Max doesn’t know what to feel or think. Dana’s question didn’t stir Max’s emotions up, no.

Maybe the Brunette has finally realized that she thinks so much faster; Waking up near the lighthouse and understanding, there’s no more tempest and no more Chloe waiting for her. It all came up at once.

“Okay, let’s go,” Dana’s lover, Trevor waits in his car. Ready to pick them up and drive off. Space enough to drive them all away from this gloomy place. And leave Chloe alone to rest in peace. The sun is shining. It’s warm but Max shivers. “Uh no, don’t you become sick, now,” Kate takes off her jacket and puts it around Max’s back. “I’d shiver too in that thin dress. Brr, winter’s about to come…” Dana tries to say something.

“They will never know.” Max keeps thinking without saying a word. Franks RV leaves the graveyard and follows their car. The road forks off in front of them. Max watches the RV disappearing behind them after picking the left street downtown. “You knew that skeevy dude?” Dana asks without making it sound like an offense against Frank. Max doesn’t react. Last time she saw Frank, he lay next to his dog. Shot by…

“CRR studios! Rock the bay – rock, rock, rock the bay…” the radio blurts out all of a sudden. “Trevor, shut that thing down, just for this ride, okay?” Dana smiles at him. No comment, he makes one fast move to turn the radio off. The radio crackles one last time before shutting down.

While embracing her, Kate’s hair falls onto Max’s face. “Thanks,” Max finally coughs her first word after one week of being silent. A broken voice, hardly comparable with the voice she had more than a week ago. It makes Dana wince and turn her head. Max cracks a painful smile. Dana watches both girls on the backseats shaking with the rough road. Some of her eyes’ vividness has gone… turned into dejection.

From that point on Dana has understood that increasing her compassion capabilities might cleave her heart asunder. No doubt, empathy may kill. Considering all things Max has to – and had to – face, one can be certain that anybody could be disturbed. Knowing what could’ve happened to Kate was enough of a burden. Blackwell needs salvation… caused by Nathan shooting Max’s best friend she had forgotten. Nothing there to regret since she had made her final decision.

Trevor glances over to Dana, asks her, “Hey, you’d like to be alone when we’re there?” While Dana replies by breathing a silent “yeah”. The engine of the car becomes louder, nothing else makes a sound in the car. Emptiness. A swarm of birds follows them, twisting and spinning in the air. Some of the trees bend with the wind. Through the little gap at Trevor’s window, wind whistles into the car like a flute in Cmaj. The sun-baked street distorting the image above the tarmac surface. Max could take a picture at any given second but she doesn’t.

* * *

 

Sitting at Blackwell’s fountain, Dana and Kate are trying to brighten Max’s mood. The weather is nice, at long last. Which doesn’t back them very much. Max tries to embrace their help, but mostly ends up stammering incoherent sentences. She lost the ability to talk. Strong as she is, Kate doesn’t give up. After an hour of blindly fighting with Max’s mysterious grief, she suggests.

“I think it’s better for you to get some sleep. You seem drowsy,” she smirks at her. “Sure we can leave her alone?” Dana is apprehensive for their depressed friend. The bloodshot eyes, her mouth half-opened as though she was constantly trying to say something. But she wasn’t. “Hey, we’ll be up all night. Make a noise and we’ll be there.” And all three of them walk to the dorms.

The Prescott Dormitories. A glimpse to her right, whence Warren beat the shit out of the Prescotts’ boy. Max feels the deep urge to strike him in the face for the friendship he had ended with his itchy finger. It’s not about what she’s thinking right now, but feeling. She could question the reason why there’s no storm tattering Arcadia Bay apart, but she doesn’t. She moves her legs, the arms, breathes. She happens to be a normal human being temporarily trapped in grief.

Kate understands the excruciating pain devoid of any knowledge on what really happened to Max. Dana doesn’t even get a glimpse of how Max feels, but has no problems feeling sorry for her, since she knew Chloe from earlier days. Reaching room number 217, they all stop. Without comment, Max walks in. Through the little gap between frame and door, she cracks yet another bleak smile and latches. “Don’t come up with anything stupid, sweetheart,” Dana talks against the closed door in front of her.

Both Dana and Kate don’t know what to talk about. They’re just standing there, waiting to seize on a suitable idea. “Poor thing,” Kate hangs her head in shame. “I could curl up and die, seeing her like this,” Dana turns around to walk the other way. Kate stays at her door for a moment.

“I’m having a hot shower, God this day was weird,” Dana massages her head and disappears in her room. More and more thoughts leave Kate’s head. Finally, she turns around and enters her dorm room too. She knows she has to talk to her parents again… everything that happened in the last recent five days is hard to digest. To anyone.

* * *

 

Somehow Max’s dorm room appears to exhilarate her a tad. Not because it’s her rotten cocoon, but because it’s a room Chloe has never visited. Watching the yard reminds her of the small talk with Justin… Kate’s jump… no reason to look through the window panes. She seals the blinds.

Opening her bag, she finds her diary. The pages are empty. Everything what she has experienced is missing. She’s back at the beginning without having anything changed. She was a component throughout a chain reaction of time. Her old camera – in great condition and intact. She knows that visiting Joyce means, going one more time into Chloe’s room and taking what’s due to her. The only difference being that she has to grab William’s camera on her own. Max’s bag doesn’t smell of cigarettes…

She expected to find all her real diary entries, although all which is left are polaroid images. Anyone would ask how she managed to take a photo of Trevor crawling on the floor grabbing his testicles because his skateboard likes to poke him down there. Anyone would ask how she made the shot of David Madsen harassing Kate? Even photos that never had happened?

Looking at those pictures burns in her heart. She tucks her photos away. Her diary follows. Max leaps onto her bed, lies down, and doesn’t know what to do exactly. The wall ‘o photos to her right looks like centuries old. Another thought strikes her mind. How about leaving? There’s no more photography teacher to lecture her.

She rotates in her bed. She uses the stereo to find some tracks. Perhaps she’ll eventually get up and search for new music on the web. She has no idea about what to do and what to study. If there was nothing that could fill her empty mind up it would rather be music that might cheer her up. She finally gets up from her bed and searches for alternative rock artists. She skips the well-known band Muse and finds another popular band.

* * *

 

All the tears that she has cried, all prayers to God. It wasn’t in vain. Her little rabbit greets her happily as Kate enters her gloomy room. She will tidy and clean up the mess that has been caused by her after the Vortex-club party. It’s not about the party to be frank, it’s about the viral video. Since Nathan testified having Kate drugged and abused, no one can ever see that video again, without feeling a deepest guilt in his heart.

Kate draws the cloth off the mirror and watches her reflex. She accepts her face and smiles. “Hey little buddy,” she kneels down to pet her rabbit. Squeezing her fingers through a narrow gap in the cage, she caresses the fluffy fur. The more she pets the rabbit the further her eyes will close. The little nose slows down a bit. Kate feels better after petting her little buddy into sleep. “I’m gonna get you something to eat,” she walks to a drawer near her messy desk and grabs some vegetables and rabbit food.

During her exhilarating return, Max has started playing music. Not loud though. Kate spots her violin on her couch and ponders on playing it for her first time in a while. Or maybe it’s a better idea to meet Alyssa and Stella. They both didn’t come to the graveyard. Nothing to be ashamed of since they both didn’t know Chloe Price. First feed the rabbit and then… “We’ll see,” Kate talks to herself, “but first, I need more light in this room.”

* * *

 

Dana comes back into her dorm room. Trevor has left a couple of messages on her phone in the meantime. Five in total. Raising both her eyebrows Dana quickly skims his petty questions about “meeting” again, soon. “Whatever,” she thinks and throws her phone on her bed, cushioned by the soft pillow. Dana exhales and doesn’t know what to do first. Like glue her thoughts can’t get off Max. It’s not that she’s blaming herself for this, but she wishes she could’ve helped at least a little.

She opens her wide wardrobe and contemplates all her dresses, all the fancy outfits that she may wear, but doesn’t give a damn about it for a change. She searches a towel and grabs it without wasting a thought about the clothes she wearing after her overdue shower. Anyone crossing her way, wouldn’t tell she needed a shower, but it’s not about being clean. Broad daylight plus sun wasn’t enough after comforting Max. Cold grief seeped through her skin and made her shiver. She wants to warm her body.

She leaves her room with her towel squeezed under her left arm with fresh undergarments. This is a day of grief. After all, she can’t remember everything she had experienced together with Chloe, but she tries to get her old memory back into her head. All what’s present, is Max’s cabalistic mourning. Just before she enters the girls’ bathroom, someone increases the volume on her stereo.

She stops in front of the door, turns around to look where the music is coming from. Kate has left her dorm room, too. “You hear that?” Dana asks looking down the hallway. Rays of sunlight shine through the window at the end. Dust glistens in mid-air. The music isn’t deafeningly loud, but sad… matching everybody’s mood.

“We must look after her,” Kate bolts down the hallway. Dana slowly follows Kate. She’s desperately trying to get into Max’s room. “She latched the door for… a reason,” Dana strokes Kate’s back. Thumping against the door, Kate shouts against the loud music, “Open us up… please, Max.” And nothings answers. The music remains loud.

Luckily there’s a quieter spot in the song. Dana already gave up and has turned back to have her hot shower. “Come on, let us be there for you.” Kate bows her head in shame, leaves the door and walks back to her own room. Half way reached, a loud snap echoes through the hallway. She unlatched the door. Kate turns around smiling, a weight off her mind. She hurries back to her room to invite the rabbit to a little party.

“Hey Alice. Heard you’ve been invited to a super cool tea party, what do you think?” she talks to the little cage. Alice’s nose hops up and down and she tilts her head a little. Her right ear kinks after that. Kate opens the cage and carefully slips her hands underneath the smooth fur. “We gonna go on an adventure. Our quest – getting our queen’s mind off things,” Kate heroically talks to herself and leaves the room. Alice raises her head bit, since she’s rarely outside the cage.

* * *

 

“Are they really dead on about this? Can they help me? I’m falling and there’s no end in sight. My entire mind shakes.” Those are one in a billion thoughts rushing through Max’s head. Barely enough strength to unlock her door and falling back into her bed. Weird, she’s too weak to cry but has the power to get up. How much volition does it take to burst into tears? It takes a lot to make her cry. The first time she cried of pain was behind the girls’ restroom stall accompanied by the blue butterfly on the rim of the sink. The cry of love that had been crushed and caused a lasting silence.

Someone slowly opens her door. A wide ray of light enters her pitched black room filled with loud music. She could’ve chosen “Something Good” again, but it wouldn’t have been appropriate. Not… good enough. She entered “goodbye song” and searched for a long music video, copied it on a flash drive and cranked up the volume. Kate’s head timidly peeks into Max’s room. “Can we come in?” she asks but enters regardless.

“Hey, look who’s there!” Kate gently puts Alice on Max’s chest. Confused like never before, Alice turns her head and looks down to Max with her innocent, unaware animal spirit. “Come on, pet her back,” Kate grasps Max’s wrist and uses the bony joint to reteach how to caress something. After some time, Max adjusted to petting the little rabbit’s back. Kate removes the guitar from her couch and has a seat. The song on her stereo repeats.

During Kate’s visit, Dana has had her shower and wants to return to her dorm room. Looking to her right, there’s an opened door that caught her attention. With her wet hair, she follows the hallway and enters Max’s dimmed room. “Can I lower the volume a tad, maybe?” she timidly approaches her stereo. Max doesn’t answer. “And get some light in here,” she concludes while opening the blinds. A swarm of birds enters the treetops, although they visually disappear in the forest.

Somebody else has joined the room. It’s Victoria. Frightened and caring she peeks in the dorm room. Smilingly, Kate beckons her over. Alice raises her head as she spots the new member in Max’s cocoon. She purrs with her nose wiggling slower and slower. Finally, she has fallen asleep with a relieved squeak at the end. Max feels a stitch in her chest. Atop of that perches Alice. And that, she believes, unchained something in her heart. Max has eventually made it. She crossed over an inner brink and rediscovered a vital reaction. Crying.

“I will change everything…,” she thinks very loud in her head so that it aches. “…again.”


	5. A German's entry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously this entry is composed in another language. A translation won't appear in this chapter, though, in the main story of Burning Horizon it might be explained somewhere.

**Burning Horizon - A German’s entry  
**

Der Regen

Es haut. Es kracht. Gewalt schlägt auf mich ein. So viele einzelne kleine Punkte auf einmal. Ein schweres Stechen auf der obersten Schicht meiner Haut zieht sich bis zu den Knochen hin. Immer mehr hämmert auf mich herab. Mir tränt es aus dem Körper, Blut rennt meine Wangen hinab. Diese Dunkelheit hat mich verschlungen, an welchem Punkt stehe ich nun? Schwirre ich frei in einem Vakuum?

Stück für Stück wird mir klar, dass ich in meinem Kopf festhänge. Ich bin eingeschlafen und stelle fest, dass es ein Traum ist, in welchem ich tief gefesselt bin. Meine Augen sind versiegelt und eine unbekannte Kraft hält diese unweigerlich geschlossen. Jener Versuch, sich fortzubewegen, scheitert kläglich. Nichts schmerzt mehr als die ekelhafte Nähe dieser Dunkelheit, die mich wie eine Aura geschluckt, verdaut hat.

Ich liege irgendwo in diesem Nirgendwo. Der Boden unter mir kribbelt, als kröchen Tausende Ameisen darunter. Es strömt mir aus den Augen - Blut aller geliebten Freunde unter mir, dazu hämmert es auf mich ein. Durchgehend unaufhörlich piekst ein langer scharfer Gegenstand in mich hinein. Die Klinge glüht, zieht eine giftige Spur mit sich und verpestet meine Seele.

Innerhalb dieser leeren Dimension hebe ich meine Hand und greife nach dem Ungewissen. Viele Gedanken, davon einige frei fliegend, duzende Vorwürfe, Hunderte diverse Schmerzen, die auf mich einprasseln.

Da, plötzlich packt jemand an meinem Handgelenk. Ich könnte schwören, es ist eine Hand, welche mich mit aller Kraft aus dieser Albtraum herauszieht. Ist das die Vorhölle? Das Einbüßen aller Sünden? Lag ich mein Leben lang falsch - es gibt doch eine größere Instanz jenseits meines ergreifbaren Horizonts? Wie dürftig und schwach habe ich leben müssen, um so blind zu sein; und womit habe ich solche Qualen verdient?

Immerhin darf ich Schmerzen fühlen und Kälte. Ironisch, denn ich liebe das Gefühl von kalten Punkten, es erinnert mich an den Regen, wobei alles, was mir gerade widerfährt, sich so anfühlt, als sei ich selbst ein Regen, welcher auf sein Ebenbild reflektiert. Hätte niemals vermutet, dass es so wehtäte.

Ein Sog entsteht. Die nach mir packende Hand drückt fester. Und weiterhin verstärkt sich der Sog, saugt immer heftiger an meinem kribbelnden Rücken. Die Hand wird schwächer. Lass nicht los! Halt mich fest! Der Griff schwächt immer weiter ab. Ein Zug in meiner Brust saugt mich wieder zurück zum undefinierbaren Boden dieser sinnfreien Dimension. Der Abdruck des Griffs bleibt an meinem Handgelenk bestehen.

Wieder fällt mein Körper gen Boden. Die andere Richtung zerrt an meinem Kopf, erneut absorbiert meine Seele allerlei Gedanken und makabre Emotionen, von denen ich glaubte, sie nie wieder fürchten zu müssen, seit jemandes Hand nach mir reichte und daran scheiterte, mich zu retten. Ich zische durch die Wolken hindurch, ganz viele Tropfen auf einmal bleiben an meinen Wimpern hängen, vermengen sich mit meinen Bluttränen, welche kontinuierlich an meinen Wangen hinablaufen.

Der Windzug an meinem Körper hat sich verändert. Wahrscheinlich schlägt mein Selbst in absehbarer Zeit zu Boden. Ein grässliches Fiepen kreischt mir in den Ohren. Mein Kopf peitscht zu Boden, und ich spüre mich so, als würde mein ganzer Korpus zerteilt werden. „Du sollst nicht töten,“ hallt in meinem Kopf, während alles auf den Boden schmettert. Wessen Hand reichte nach mir? Womit verdiene ich Erlösung, wenn ich so viel zerstört habe? Ich verdiene keinen Erlös.

Eine dicke breite Schicht Wasser hat sich über mir gebildet. Ebene für Ebene fährt alles in meiner Psyche sukzessive herunter. Nahtoderfahrung - aber dieses Mal mit einem signifikanten Unterschied; Ich will nicht sterben. Es ist, als würde der Regen meine Welt reflektieren. Alles schüttet auf einmal auf mich herab, Vergangenheit, Gegenwart und die unmittelbare Zukunft. Keiner dieser Tempi treffen auf diesen jämmerlichen Ort zu.

Etwas zieht an meinen Lidern. Druck und Kraft lassen ab. Endlich wieder kann ich sehen. Der dünne Spalt genügt, etwas strahlende Dunkelheit in meine Augen einfallen zu lassen. Meine Pupillen ziehen sich endlich wieder zusammen, Umrisse erscheinen deutlicher. Scharfe Linien in dieser brennenden Umgebung. Alles brennt, scheint in Flammen zu sein. Die Brunst um mich herum reicht nach meinem Körper. Jedoch die scharfen Konturen sind ein süßes Mädchen inmitten dieser Hölle.

Erneut greift sie nach meinem Handgelenk. Sehr langsam und schüchtern packt sie an meinem Knochen und scheint über etwas überrascht zu sein. Leider erkenne ich ihr Gesicht nicht. Es ist so heiß um uns herum, dass schier jenes eingefangene Bild bloße Unschärfe abbildet. Sie zieht an meinem Arm, wendet wieder mehr Kraft an, bis sie zurückschreckt und nach hinten umkippt. An ihrer Stelle schließt sich die Mauer aus Flammen. Was bereitete ihr so viel Furcht?

Ich blicke hinab zu meinen Füßen und sehe, dass ich an den Boden angewurzelt bin. Der Boden ist mit meinen Füßen verwachsen. Die Flamen packen nach mir, beißen in meine Waden, wandern hoch zu meinen Oberschenkeln. Ich wünschte, ich könnte schreien und auf meine Knie fallen und um Gnade flehen, aber mein ganzer Körper ist wie zu einer Statue eingefroren.

In diesem gottlosen Augenblick meines nicht mehr Seins, wünsche ich mir nichts mehr, als wieder blind im Regen zu liegen und meine Sünden auszuschütten, um sie dann wieder auf mich einprasseln zu lassen.

All mein Körper ist in Flammen eingehüllt und ich spüre meine sich kräuselnde inkrustierende Haut, geziert durch das riesen Inferno. Das ist es also. Ich schmore und koche in der Hölle. Nicht mehr lange und all diese glühenden Wolken haben sich ins Innere meines Körpers gefressen. Meine Seele soll nicht schmoren, ich flehe darum.

In meinem Kopf schreit etwas. Es wird immer lauter. Beinahe synthetisch. Woher kommt dieses Geräusch? Es ertönt zu meiner Linken. Ein weicher Zug pfeift über meine Haut, ein Kribbeln resultiert daraus; ich atme auf, als wäre ich aus einem langen Tauchgang ausgebrochen. Licht prallt auf meine Netzhaut, Adrenalin reguliert direkt meinen Irismuskel, nichts hält mich auf. Ich bin unbesiegbar, denn, ich bin aufgewacht aus dieser Hölle.

Der Wecker zu meiner Linken schreit mich noch immer an. Ich schlage auf ihn und springe aus dem Bett. Der Abdruck von diesem Jemand ist noch deutlich spürbar an meinem Gelenk kleben geblieben. Draußen regnet es. Immer wieder prügelt der Wind den armen Regen gegen die Fensterscheibe. Ich eile aus meinem Zimmer, haste die leeren Flure entlang und stürme auf den Hof.

Ich falle auf meine Knie in den kaltfeuchten Matsch. Jeder Tropfen auf meiner Haut beruhigt meine Sinne. Jede Pore freut sich über das Wasser, was sich so rein anfühlt. Es ziehen noch mehr Wolken über meinem Kopf über mich. Ein Donnergrollen ertönt - ich schließe meine Augen, öffne den Mund.

Ich liebe den Regen, denn er zeigt mir, wie sehr ich lebe.


End file.
